


One Flew Over the Cocksucker's Nest

by zuotian



Series: Kenman Week 2018 [3]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Dialogue Heavy, Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Institutions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 01:49:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17194232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuotian/pseuds/zuotian
Summary: Cartman is wrongly charged with Kenny's murder. The situation worsens when his lawyer pleads insanity and he's transferred to a wacky mental institution. There, he has to find someone who will believe his side of the story - only nobody is willing to listen.





	One Flew Over the Cocksucker's Nest

**Author's Note:**

> ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FANFICTION—EVEN THOSE BASED ON A REAL SHOW—ARE ENTIRELY GRATUITOUS. ALL CANONICAL DIALOGUE IS IMPERSONATED ... POORLY. THE FOLLOWING FANFICTION CONTAINS COARSE LANGUAGE AND DUE TO ITS CONTENT IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE.

Cartman could still hear Liane’s wailing after being escorted out of the courtroom. The wooden doors shut behind him and he was lead down the hall by an officer in uniform.

 

“This country’s justice system is  _ fucked _ ,” he said, handcuffed in an orange jumpsuit. 

 

“Shut up,” his attorney said, walking beside him. She was a stone cold bitch, given to him by the state of Colorado. “You’re lucky we got your sentence dropped.” 

 

“You told the judge I was insane!” 

 

“After getting a psychological evaluation. You’ve been diagnosed with schizophrenia and fifteen personality disorders, Mr. Cartman.” 

 

Cartman seethed. “Nobody’s fucking listening to me!” 

 

The officer tightened his grip. “Chill out, big guy.” 

 

“You chill out, asswipe,” Cartman retorted. He turned to his attorney. “If I’m crazy and not a criminal, why is this guy still lugging me around?”

 

“You killed somebody,” she said. 

 

“It was a mistake, I said. You wouldn’t even let me testify!” 

 

“You’re mentally unfit for the proceedings of the court,” she said. 

 

“Kenny is a real shrink,” Cartman said. “He never thought I was crazy.” 

 

The attorney pursed her lips. They made it outside to the courthouse steps. She ignored Cartman to address the babysitting officer. “Where’s the van?” 

 

The officer looked up and down the street. The van that brought Cartman in from jail was nowhere to be seen. “Ah - “

 

“Go find it,” she snapped. 

 

He jostled Cartman’s arm. “What about him?” 

 

“Don’t manhandle me,” Cartman said. 

 

“He’s fine,” she said. “Handcuff him to the railing or something.” 

 

The officer sighed. “Give me your arms.” 

 

“Seriously?” Cartman held his hands out. The officer unlocked the cuffs, looped the chain under the staircase railing, locked him back up, and went off to hunt down the van. 

 

Cartman stood at the top of the stairs like a dog on a very short leash. “This can’t be legal.” He glared at his attorney. “How long have you been on public defense?” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Not good enough to get into somebody else’s practice? Or what?” 

 

“I find my job perfectly fulfilling,” she said. “Usually.” 

 

“How many nutcases do you get?” 

 

She shrugged and stared down at the street. A city bus pulled up behind some lawyer’s sports car. “Depends on the season.” 

 

“I know who you are,” Cartman said. “You represented Butters, right? Leopold Stotch?” 

 

“I can’t talk about my clients with you,” she said, then paused. “He was a good kid. You know him?” 

 

“We’re from the same town,” he said. “I grew up with him. He’s a real idiot. We all know what happened at  _ his  _ trial. Do I sound like an idiot to you?” 

 

“It’s not a matter of intelligence,” she emphasized. 

 

“Of course it is. I’m not stupid. You should’ve let me testify!” Cartman pulled at his handcuffs. They were already too small for his thick wrists and cut into his skin. He gave up, panting. “This is bullshit!” 

 

“Van’s here,” his attorney said. The officer from before came back, undid the handcuffs, and guided Cartman down the stairs and into the back of the vehicle. He sat on a bench against the wall. The officer shut the doors and he was left alone. No windows in the back door, he stared through the grilled partition between him and the driver. His attorney sat up front, and they started driving. 

 

The drive from jail to the courthouse was twenty minutes. Cartman counted the time. When half an hour passed, he shuffled down the bench and pressed his face against the partition, behind his attorney’s shoulder. “Where the hell are you taking me?” 

 

She sighed and glanced back at him. “I already explained this to you. You’re being moved to a mental institution to serve the rest of your sentence. The personal belongings your mother brought were sent ahead of time.” 

 

Cartman huffed and slid back to his original spot. He banged his head back against the van wall. “God fucking damn it!” 

 

“Calm down, or they’ll sedate you.”

 

“Fucking bitch,” Cartman said under his breath. He bent over, dropped his forehead against his knees with his eyes shut, and resumed counting the minutes. 

 

One hour out from the courthouse, they finally stopped. Cartman lifted his head and sat in silence, waiting as the driver came around to let him out. He hopped down from the van and found himself on an expansive grassy lawn. A series of walkways lead in from either side of the property to a clinically white and rectangular building. 

 

His attorney walked him up to the door. She talked with someone at the front desk, a receptionist separated by a glass wall. After that, she tried telling him about the length of his stay, how he couldn’t get out early because this wasn’t in the hands of the law anymore but rather part of a medical treatment. Cartman tuned her out and looked around. He didn’t see any patients jumping off the walls - no patients at all. 

 

He sat in a chair, still handcuffed. A doctor came out. His attorney stood up and they conversed. 

 

“This is it for me,” she said to Cartman. 

 

He looked down from the ceiling. “What?” 

 

“I’m leaving. I’ll be back to update your case in about a month.” 

 

“Huh.” He squinted his eyes. She was kind of funny for a bitch. Entertaining, at least. He’d miss her. “Well thanks for nothing.” 

 

“Goodbye,” she said. 

 

Cartman watched her leave. Sunlight poured in through the open doors, only to disappear once they shut a second later.

 

The doctor stepped forward. Some balding douchebag in a white suit and glasses. “I’ll be your main physician for your visit,” he said. 

 

Cartman grunted. “Visit? I’m here against my goddamn will.” 

 

“Yes, that may be the case. But I hope you find it constructive and therapeutic nonetheless, Eric.” 

 

“Just call me Cartman.” 

 

“Alright, Cartman. Let’s get you changed. Then I’ll show you your room.” 

 

Cartman was lead to a tiny room with open shower stalls and given a blue shirt and matching pants with a pair of briefs. 

 

The doctor locked the door behind them and removed Cartman’s handcuffs. Cartman set the clothes aside and rubbed his sore wrists. 

 

“You’re gonna watch me get undressed?” he asked. 

 

“Yes. Keeping in mind your reasons for being here, Cartman, you’ll be under heavy supervision for quite some time. But that can change throughout your visit depending on your behavior. We’ve had many patients with violent tendencies behave well and gain new privileges.” 

 

“Pervert,” Cartman said. He unzipped his orange jumpsuit and hopped into the shower. The water was surprisingly warm. He hadn’t had a hot shower the entire time he waited for his trial. It was a nice perk, but he wasn’t about to get too comfortable. “Take a nice look, doc.” 

 

The doctor chuckled. “I’ve seen much in this career, Cartman. Nothing fazes me. Not even your fat ass.” 

 

“What the hell are you saying?” Cartman asked. He shut the water off and toweled himself. 

 

“Only joking,” the doctor reassured. 

 

“Weirdo.” Cartman stepped out of the stall and put on his new threads. They were thin as paper.

The doctor put his handcuffs back on and took him up a floor, where several hallways branched off a common room with couches and ping pong tables. A box TV playing The Price Is Right was bracketed to the wall, encased in plexiglass. Patients in the same outfit as Cartman listlessly milled about.

 

“You guys ever get Terrance and Phillip reruns on in here?” Cartman asked. 

 

“Patients can’t pick the channels. We only have basic cable.” 

 

“That sucks.” 

 

Cartman followed the doctor down one of the back hallways. 

 

“This is where our high-security patients stay. It is only temporary depending on your situation in the upcoming weeks.” 

 

The doctor opened a door and stepped inside. Cartman reviewed the room. It had a bed, dresser, end table, and window overlooking the front yard he arrived on. 

 

“Your personal belongings arrived once you left for trial,” the doctor said. “It was an open and shut case, so we thought there was no sense in waiting. You can stay here in your room unrestrained. Take time to get acclimated. But in a few minutes, we’ll have to come to my office to review your case.” 

 

Cartman stood in the middle of the room. “This is it?” he asked, unimpressed. 

 

The doctor smiled tightly. “Better than a jail cell, I hope.” 

 

“Barely.” Cartman moved to the bed and opened the plastic bag of stuff Liane gathered for him, straining against the limited range of his handcuffs. It held only a blanket from the living room couch that still had a few of Mr. Kitty’s hairs on it, some socks and underwear, and Clyde Frog. 

 

Cartman stared at Clyde Frog for a moment, before setting him on the pillows at the head of the bed. 

 

The doctor cleared his throat at the doorway. “Your mother also brought a year’s supply of Cheesy Poofs, but as we give our patients a controlled diet it was considered contraband.” 

 

Cartman slowly turned his head. “You threw away my Cheesy Poofs?” 

 

“Ah - yes, that is what happened.” 

 

“I’ve been in jail for a whole month waiting on this shit, and you - you threw away my fucking Cheesy Poofs!?” 

 

Cartman lowered his head, clutched Clyde Frog, and willed himself to calm down. He had to get through this. He had to play along. Maybe he’d find a way out, or cheat the system - this doc didn’t seem too sharp a tack. 

 

“Okay, fine,” he said, releasing Clyde Frog. “That’s totally fine. Please show me the rest of your wonderful establishment, sir.”

 

They went to third floor where the doctor’s office was. His desk was filled with papers, the wall behind covered in plaques and degrees - the Biggest Jack Off in the World award and a PhD in Bullshit, probably. 

 

Cartman leaned back in one of the chairs, extending his legs wide apart to assert spatial dominance. “So what do I need to do to get outta here? Eat my vegetables? Take some pills? Get down on my knees and suck your cock?” 

 

The doctor laughed. “Not exactly. You will be put on a schedule of psychotherapy, prescribed medicine, and participate in several of our communal activities such as swimming and ping pong.” 

 

Cartman blinked. “Okay… That might not be so bad.” 

 

“Yes, I hope you will learn to enjoy your visit, considering it will extend up to twenty years - depending.” 

 

“Did - did you say twenty years?” Cartman snapped his legs together and jumped from his chair. “Twenty fucking years?! Depending on  _ what _ ?” 

 

“Depending on your  _ behavior _ , Cartman. Please sit down.”

 

“No!” 

 

“Mr. Cartman, you killed Kenny McCormick - “ 

 

“I told my cunt lawyer I didn’t kill him - because he can’t  _ die _ !” 

 

“The evidence from the crime scene clearly indicates you were the killer. But after your psychological evaluation, wherein you repeatedly insisted Mr. McCormick would be ‘coming back to life,’ and then days later said you couldn’t even remember the incident - “ 

 

“Because he always pulls this shit! He always dies, and he comes back, and we all forget about it!” 

 

The doctor frowned. He picked up a clipboard and started taking notes with a fountain pen. “You say this happens often?” 

 

“Ever since we were kids,” Cartman said. He walked around the chair and gripped the back of it, leaning forward. “I’m  _ telling  _ you. You could ask his parents about it, if they didn’t overdose ten years ago.” 

 

“Since your childhood this has been happening? Interesting.” The doctor wrote something else down. “Your records indicate that you began hearing Kenny’s voice in your head...seeing his own memories, as you put it then. Is that true?” 

 

“I drank his ashes,” Cartman explained flatly. 

 

“Oh, my… I see, yes.” The doctor continued writing, mumbling, “Consumption of the deceased’s remains…”

 

“What are you writing?” Cartman bent further, his eyes level with the desk. “Let me see!” 

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” the doctor said. He put the clipboard and pen down. “This is just a diagnostic assessment of your case and mental state. I will be giving these notes to your therapist, whom you will be seeing later today, after lunch.” 

 

Cartman rose back up to full height. “I thought  _ you _ were my therapist.” 

 

“I’m your physician, not your therapist. I will only be watching your general, physical health.”

 

“Then who’s my real therapist?” 

 

“You’ll find out.” The doctor stood from his desk. “For now, it’s time to grab lunch!” 

 

“Fucking weirdo,” Cartman said, and followed the doctor out the room. 

 

They went back down to the second floor and entered the cafeteria. Rows of long tables lined the room. Along the left wall was the kitchen, open for serving. 

 

“Seeing as you’re still under probationary watch, you will be assigned another patient to help you eat,” the doctor said.

 

“What? Just uncuff me. Or - let me eat in my room.” 

 

“Eating utensils are not allowed in personal quarters for your own safety. Here comes your buddy!” 

 

“My buddy?” Cartman asked. 

 

“Well, gee - Eric? Is that you?” 

 

“No…” Cartman turned around. “Nooo!!” 

 

Butters walked over, wearing the same blue shirts and pants as Cartman - who hadn’t seen him in years. 

 

“Aw, don’t be like that. I’ll kill ya!” 

 

The doctor laughed. “Butters, you kill  _ me _ with your jokes!” He looked at Cartman. “This is Butters. He’s been around a long time, and will help you during meal time today.” 

 

“I know who he is,” Cartman said. “He killed his parents.” 

 

“I sure did,” Butters said, the smile sliding off of his face. “I feel real bad about it, you know.” 

 

“They were psychos,” Cartman told him. “They would’ve killed you first. Your mom would’ve at least. And your dad would cover it up!” 

 

“We don’t condone violence from the past,” the doctor said. “But every day is a new beginning. Butters has really made a lot of improvements.” 

 

“Because he’s not a murderer,” Cartman said. “He just plead guilty right away. You’re stupid, Butters.” 

 

Butters scowled. “Cartman, I don’t regret a single thing. I trust my government. And if the law says I should be grounded, well, that’s that. And I’m doing a lot of good here! I help the new people like you, and take care of the gardens, and play ping pong all the time!” 

 

“Do I really have to get stuck with him?” Cartman asked the doctor. 

 

“Butters is one of our best volunteers. You’re in good hands.” 

 

Cartman sighed. 

 

They were left alone to eat. Butters picked a spot by the windows - “The sunlight falls real nice here.” 

 

The lunch that day was hot dogs and macaroni. Better than the gruel served at the county jail, but at least there Cartman could eat on his own. Butters held the hot dog up. Cartman ate it in two huge bites, refusing to be fed any longer than necessary. 

 

“Want some mac and cheese, Eric?” Butters held a forkful up, smiling. 

 

“No, Butters. I’m not hungry.” Cartman looked out the window. “What’s the deal with this place? That creepy doctor is like fucking Willy Wonka. I’m waiting for him to do a backflip and pull a chocolate bar out of his dick.” 

 

“He’s a great doctor, Eric. But I think the therapists are even nicer! I’ve talked a lot to mine, about my parents and - what happened with all that.” 

 

“What happened is they tortured you your whole childhood, and then when they threatened your life  _ again _ you took appropriate action. But you pulled your pants down and let the American judicial system fuck you in the ass. It’s simple, Butters. You’re a fucking pussy.” 

 

Butters slapped him in the face with the plastic spork. 

 

“Ow, you dick!” 

 

“Look there,” Butters said. He pointed out the window to a corner of the property grounds with the spork. “Those gardens were nothing when I got here. But now they’re all pretty and full of roses.” 

 

“Gaaaay,” Cartman moaned. 

 

Butters dropped the spork and crossed his arms. “You know, Eric, I really did try when we were kids. But I just couldn’t ever get through to you. Maybe your therapist will.” 

 

Cartman rolled his eyes. “Right. When am I supposed to meet this douchebag, anyway? I’ve only heard about him all day.” 

 

“Right about now, I’d suppose.” Butters glanced up at a clock on the wall. “It’s almost one o’ clock. Lunch time ends then. I can take you there right now.”

 

Butters disposed of their trays and walked Cartman out of the cafeteria and back to the third floor, past Dr. Wonka’s office. 

 

“Here he is,” Butters said, stopping at a door. “I hope you get the help you need, Eric. See ya around! I’ll be in the lounge playing ping pong if you need to find me.” 

 

Butters practically skipped away. Cartman watched him go. 

 

“Poor bastard,” he said, and turned to the door. “Hello? Hey - I’m, uh, here, I guess.” Cartman struggled to twist the doorknob. Finally it gave way and he pushed it open. 

 

The office was small. It had a desk same as the doctor’s, and a couch against the wall. A bookshelf sat beside the couch, with a degree from Colorado State and a thick DSM beside it. The desk chair was turned around, its back facing Cartman. 

 

He took a step forward. “Anybody in here?” 

 

Suddenly, the silence was broken with great peals of laughter emanating from the chair. 

 

Cartman frowned. “The hell is so funny, asshole? Hey! Stop laughing! I’ve heard about you all day, so you better listen! This whole thing is  _ fucked _ ! I shouldn’t even be here. The cops, my lawyer, the judge, that pervy doctor,  _ Butters _ \- nobody’s even listening to me. You’re my last chance, asshole! So turn around and  _ look _ at me.” 

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I just couldn’t help it.” 

 

“What?” Cartman’s brow furrowed. That voice...was familiar. “What are you talking about?” 

 

The chair swiveled around. 

 

Cartman’s entire body tensed in rage. He was about to snap. “I can’t believe it.” 

 

“Can’t you, though?” 

 

“How long has it been?” Cartman asked. “Tell me!” 

 

“I don’t know...not too long. A couple of weeks.” 

 

“But I’ve been locked up for a  _ month _ ,” Cartman said. 

 

“Yeah, I know.” 

 

“You  _ knew _ ? And didn’t do anything about it?” 

 

“What could I have done? I just had to let the court run its course. I knew you wouldn’t remember what happened, like I told you before. I’m surprised you remembered  _ that _ , even.” 

 

“Of course I remembered that. I fucking trusted you, Kenny!” 

 

Kenny grinned. He was  _ alive _ again, just as Cartman said he would be, just like Kenny told him years ago, when Cartman listened to him and  _ believed  _ in him. Pompous as hell in an orange cable-knit sweater. He was a psychologist; he took Mackey’s advice to heart all those years ago, and actually went and did it. Cartman would watch him leave for work every day - they lived together. 

 

Cartman collapsed onto the couch, all the fight drained from him at the sight of his boyfriend. 

 

Kenny got up, retrieved a set of keys from his desk, and came around to the couch. “Let me see your wrists.” 

 

Cartman offered them up. Kenny unlocked the handcuffs and threw them on the floor. 

 

“I missed you a lot,” Kenny said. “If that helps.” 

 

“I missed you too,” Cartman snapped, “in  _ jail _ . Don’t touch me.” 

 

Kenny lifted his hands. “Okay, babe.” 

 

“You can go to hell.” 

 

Kenny smirked. “Just got back, actually.” 

 

Cartman huffed. “You’re going to have to tell my mom about this.” 

 

“And say what?” Kenny asked. “She won’t believe me. Nobody ever did. Except for you, Cartman.” 

 

“Whatever.” 

 

“Hey…” Kenny slipped down to the floor, on his knees. He took Cartman’s hands. “Look. I’m sorry. I really am. But I knew this would happen. You know why? Because you would tell them what I tell you. And they’d find all the other stuff about us - me in your head. They’d say you’re crazy. And you’d end up here, with me, and I could help you get out of this. Because I believe you.” 

 

Cartman sniffed, a lump forming in his throat. He squeezed Kenny’s hands and wiped his nose on his shoulder. “Jail sucks, dude. It fucking sucked.” 

 

Kenny’s countenance darkened. “Did you get raped?” 

 

“No. I just played cards. All day long. I won’t ever be able to get a million dollars anymore. I don’t want to play poker at the casino ever again.” 

 

“That’s okay,” Kenny said. “We can just play the slots.” 

 

“The food was terrible. I probably lost two hundred pounds. And the dickholes here took all the Cheesy Poofs my mom bought me.” 

 

“That’s rough, babe. I’ll get you some Cheesy Poofs.” 

 

“I couldn’t talk to anybody, I didn’t know if you’d come back yet or not.” 

 

“I always come back,” Kenny said. 

 

Cartman was crying before he knew it. He doubled over and buried himself into Kenny’s sweater. “I don’t even remember how it happened!” 

 

Kenny stroked his hair. “We were drunk at home. You had the revolver out. We just had sex. You wanted to roleplay, like some double agent and Bond girl thing. You asked to play Russian Roulette after. You said you wanted to feel the rush of a near death experience. I said okay, because you were getting all worked up. I emptied out the chamber, so if you went first I’d get the bullet. And that’s what happened. Here, hold on…” 

 

Kenny disengaged from Cartman and went back to his desk. He pulled out a file and flipped it open. 

 

“This is the police report. Shots fired, a neighbor called it in. They found you passed out drunk next to my dead body.”  

 

Cartman rested his back against the couch and wiped his face. “That’s it?” 

 

Kenny shut the file. “It was your idea. I didn’t think it’d be such a huge deal, though.” He resumed his seat next to Cartman on the floor. “Sucks you forgot. I looked pretty sexy in that cocktail dress.” 

 

“You can wear it again,” Cartman said. “Because I’m topping for like, the next century. I’m gonna fuck you so hard for putting me through this.” 

 

Kenny smiled. “Cool.” 

 

Cartman leaned his head back and scanned the office. He noticed a picture of the two of them on Kenny’s desk. “I didn’t know you worked here. I thought you were still a substance abuse counselor or whatever.” 

 

“Nobody cheeses anymore,” Kenny said. “I told you I switched jobs.” 

 

“I thought you were specializing in crack or something now.” 

 

“Nope.” 

 

Cartman turned to look at Kenny. He was hot as ever and fresh as a pushing daisy. “Can I ask you something?” 

 

“Shoot.” 

 

“Are you Butters’ therapist?” 

 

Kenny scrunched his nose. “Yeah. He’s really fucked up.” 

 

“You never told me?” 

 

“I knew it was kind of a sore subject with you. What he did.” 

 

“I don’t care he killed his parents - but he just...gave up.” 

 

Kenny shook his head. “It’s not like that. Just think about it. His parents had him under their thumb. He needs a place like this...a place with rules, and punishment, where he can get in trouble. But he doesn’t get into trouble. He does good here. He likes it. And he’s pro at ping pong now. He can probably beat the ones in China.” 

 

“Fucking China,” Cartman said. 

 

“Yeah,” Kenny said. “Fucking China.” 

 

“So what do we do now?” Cartman asked. 

 

“Well,” Kenny began. “I’ll have to fudge your case a bit. Probably give the administrator a blowjob. But you’ll get out of here, and you’ll get home.” 

 

“You’re not gonna psychoanalyze me?” 

 

“Hell no,” Kenny said. “I’m not touching your subconscious with a ten foot pole.” 

 

“My subconscious thanks you.”

 

Kenny hummed. “We could have sex on my desk. Will that make all this up to you?” 

 

“It’s a good start,” Cartman said. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> for the kenman week prompt senseless - "inexplicable things happen; it's better not to seek an explanation." took it a bit loose and had a lot of fun with it. if i were the type to write multi-chaptered stuff, i would probably write something like this. but im too lazy. 
> 
> please leave a comment letting me know what you think. next prompt is AU, so you know what that means - once upon a time there was a grand wizard and his princess kenny...


End file.
